


Best Laid Plans

by ghostwriterly



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Derek "Nursey" Nurse is Unchill, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Friends With Benefits, Gratuitous Smut, M/M, Romantic Fluff, Shameless Smut, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-02-15 18:20:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13036785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostwriterly/pseuds/ghostwriterly
Summary: The one where Nursey accidentally offers Dex a blow job, and then proceeds to fall hopelessly in love.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is where I should apologize for the mindless ~~angst~~ fluff and smut-a-thon upon which we are about to embark.  
>  Godspeed. 
> 
> ps. Thank you to Ngozi, for the inspiration held within Derek Nurse's perfect cheekbones.

The thing about sex, for Derek Nurse, was that it was all-consuming. It blanked his mind and buffered his emotions and, in a very literal sense, allowed him to escape the total shitshow of real life.

He hated the word _promiscuous,_ but yeah, okay; maybe he was promiscuous. He was sure as hell getting laid a lot, something he knew drove his roommate up the wall. Not that it was any of Dex’s business. In fact—Derek would eat his entire left skate with a knife and fork if William J. Poindexter the Third had had his dick sucked a single goddamn time since they had moved into Lardo’s old room in the Haus. (And if he had, well, whoever was doing the do apparently needed a fucking refresher course, because Dex was wound so tight Derek was afraid he was going snap and murder half the SMH by Christmas.)

And here’s the thing: Derek never _meant_ to offer up his services as resident blue ribbon blow job dispenser. And he sure as _hell_ never meant to offer as much to _Dex_.

Yet—here he stood, in the showers after practice, dripping wet and naked as the day he was born, and wondering why the sheer murder he could read in Dex’s eyes had always been such a fucking turn on.

Clearly, he needed his head examined.

“Look, if you’re not interested…” Derek shrugged and turned away. “I just thought I’d give you a chance to, you know.” He shrugged again, ears burning. “Blow off some steam.” He chuckled at his own pun. “So to speak.”

The showers were empty, everyone else having long finished and gone, the only sound the splash of spray from the showerhead and the pounding beat of Derek’s heart. He winced when he felt Dex turn to leave. Rejection wasn’t his kink and this felt particularly humiliating.

“Not here,” Dex said quietly.

Derek’s stomach hit the broken tiled floor between his feet.

_X_

Derek was surprised to find Dex waiting for him when he came out of the showers, and as crazy as it sounded, he felt self-conscious as he dressed. They must have seen each other in various states of undress at least a thousand times—but this was different because Dex wasn’t looking away and Derek was the only one naked.

“I like that color on you,” Dex said at length, and Derek fumbled with his shoe.

“Jesus.” He blew out a breath, ruffling the curls around his forehead. “Thanks?”

Dex laughed, and the quiet, soft sound did something strange to Derek’s stomach, made it tight and warm and maybe a little bit sweet.

He didn’t know what to do with his hands when they finally stood to go, so he shoved them in the front pockets of his jeans.

 When Dex held the door of Faber open for him, Derek stumbled over the threshold.

“Easy,” Dex muttered, catching him by the elbow, giving his arm a quick squeeze. At the bottom of the steps, he asked, “Are you hungry?”

Derek’s mouth worked, and there—there it was. The twinkle in Dex’s eye that he hadn’t seen since freshman orientation, since the day Coach first handed them their jerseys. He hadn’t even realized it had been missing. He flushed, praying the color rising up the back of his neck was well-hidden by his scarf. “I could eat.”

Dex nodded and pulled a beanie over his ears, uncharacteristically calm and poised. “Annie’s?” He asked, but he didn’t wait for Derek’s answer, loping down the sidewalk with his stupid long legs and unreasonably wide shoulders.

Derek swallowed as he watched him walk away. _Okay._ So he might actually, possibly, technically be… very, very fucked.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek discovers The Power of a rolled up flannel sleeve.

To Derek’s surprise, sitting across from Dex in their usual booth at Annie’s was… comfortable. Familiar even.

But it was also strangely disconcerting.

Without Chowder along to buffer the awkwardness, Derek had imagined it would be long stretches of uneasy silence interspersed with carefully avoided glances. A quick snack and run, over before it ever really began.    

Instead it was Dex’s long forearms sneaking battered cheese sticks off of his plate and easy laughter and the kind of gentle chirping Derek associated more with foreplay than frenemies.

“You’re blushing.”

“I am not!” Derek huffed, slapping Dex’s hand away from his plate _._ “And stop that. You have a whole heaping mound of fries.”

Dex shrugged and licked the tips of his fingers. “I like yours better.”

 _Fuck that, fuck that fuck that fuck that—_ Derek’s brain scrambled to reset, the combined ammunition of Dex’s quick pink tongue and the husky delivery too damned potent for four thirty on a Wednesday afternoon. In _Annie’s_ for God’s sake. “Well you can’t have mine.” It was weak, even to Derek’s ears, and he blushed harder when Dex winked.

“Coulda fooled me.”

And when the _fuck_ did Will Poindexter get game?

“Will!”

Derek’s reputation for glibness was spared by the group of raucous computer nerds that surrounded their booth in totality, flushed with the apparent excitement of mastering a particularly difficult piece of code. Now _this_ he could work with, he thought with a relieved sigh. Something— _anything—_ to needle Will with, to right the balance of power in his newly off-kilter world.

He was already forming a suitably cutting roast in his head, even working Dex’s ears into the equation—when Dex took advantage of his distraction and reached across the table to snatch another cheese stick. The quick, private wink that he threw Derek’s way was a sucker punch to his gut. It ­seized a half-engaged switch that lived somewhere deep inside him and flipped it entirely _on._

And just like that, Derek’s senses were overloaded. The smell of coffee and cinnamon and Dex’s shitty drugstore shampoo, mingling with his own pricy cologne and day old fry grease. How had he never noticed the sprinkling of gold hair covering Dex’s forearms? Or the way his Henley (shamelessly unbuttoned under a well-worn flannel) parted _just so_ over his pecs? Affording anyone with eyes a clear view of the deceptively graceful line of his collarbone? There was a smattering of freckles there, gold on gold, melting into his skin, evidence of summer upon summer spent uncovered in the sun. How much of Dex’s body was coated in these dazzling flecks of sunlight, Derek wondered, mouth suddenly too dry, head spinning. How far did they bleed, beneath that open neckline and down his well-toned abs? Did his happy trail sparkle, like his arms? Like his faintly visible (and woefully inadequate) beard? Was it a glittering trail to an auburn-hued wonderland?

Derek had showered beside Dex more times than he could count, but he couldn’t remember having ever _really_ paid attention.

Why? How?

Why?

And speaking of how—how had he never noticed the warm timbre of Dex’s voice when he spoke to people he genuinely liked? Or the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he was having fun? Like he obviously was now, ribbing one dude about Javascript and another in something that sounded suspiciously like a foreign language. He wanted to stay here, forever, immersed in it, the warmth, the crinkling, this unfamiliar happiness that radiated from his defensive partner, his sparring mate. His—

“Hey Nurse,” Javascript nodded, snapping Derek into the present before fist bumping Dex in farewell.

“Hey,” Derek replied weakly, shoving a cheese stick in his mouth to cover his completely demolished composure. Dex was thankfully too distracted to notice, finishing up a lively story that Derek didn’t have a prayer of following. He honed in instead, on the heavy, settled feel of Dex’s ankle, pressed against his under the booth, grounding him there in the moment. His eyes tracked the animated wave of Dex’s hands with something depressingly akin to obsession. For a few shiveringly good seconds, Derek let himself imagine those strong fingers gliding over his bare skin—and he had to cram another cheese stick in his mouth to camouflage a whimper.

This person sitting across from him was abysmally foreign, but also still succinctly _Dex:_ smart and funny and bitingly witty, spinning off one liners with as much precision and skill as when he flayed Derek with one of his well-timed chirps on the ice.

Derek had no earthly idea how long he had perceived their acrimonious give and take as the ultimate turn on; only that it was. In a big, big way.

His gaze followed the group as they left the table, and then out the door and into the cold autumn day. When he turned back, he found Dex watching him closely. “What?”

“Nothing,” Dex shrugged, swiping the last cheese stick and ignoring Derek’s squawking protest.

“Obviously something.” Derek tried to steal a fry in retaliation, but Dex easily swatted him away.

“I don’t know man, you’re acting weird.” Dex cocked one brow. “Are you having second thoughts?”

“What?!” Derek barely resisted the urge to glance around like some kind of self-conscious ninny. He was Derek Nurse. He didn’t _do_ self-conscious. And he didn’t do _this,_ the goosebumps, the fascination, the prickling buzz along his hairline. He needed to get a grip. He carefully relaxed his face into what he hoped resembled a casual smirk before he continued. “Why, are you?”

Dex’s eyes caught on his mouth long enough that Derek had to fight the urge to squirm, his skin sparking hot and tight as the moment stretched and held. 

“No.” Dex said at length, pushing his plate aside and grabbing his coat. “You done?”

And Derek Nurse, who didn’t _do_ self conscious and hadn’t been nervous about a date ( _was this a date??)_ since middle school, threw all common sense and caution to the wind and said, “Yes.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Standing too close to the edge of a precipice can be really fucking alluring.

There were problems, Derek thought, and then there were _problems._

Falling head over heels for your defensive partner would fall decidedly into the latter category. _Would not recommend._

In his peripheral vision, Dex was the shadow to his right, a tall, warm, autumn-hued figure kicking leaves out of their path between the shops on Second and the ill-repaired pavement of frat house row. Their elbows bumped as they walked, and Derek wished each brush wasn’t the thing that was going to give him nightmares, or daydreams, that the silence that had sprung up between them as soon as they left Annie’s wasn’t so…anticipatory.

It should be awkward. This silence should be uncomfortable; he hated that it wasn’t. And he hated Dex, in the way you hate a sibling, in the way you always know what buttons to push and which to never, ever touch. Where the boundary of too far lay and just how close you could come to crossing it before it’s lights out, nobody’s home. Over.

He hated Dex. It defined who he was, who they were, because he knew without a doubt that Dex hated him in return. Dex hated Derek’s clothes and his friends and his hair and his _homework_ , for fuck’s sake. There was, as far as Derek was aware, not a single part or parcel of Derek’s life, before Samwell or after, that Dex approved of. Except hockey, and even then it felt like Dex was waiting for Derek to disappoint him.

He startled when Dex jumped a puddle as they crossed the street to the Haus, airborne, mile-long legs and flapping flannel, and Derek had a sudden, vivid flash of memory, a game last spring, when Derek had made an amazing block and Dex’ entire body had lit up like a firework. He had grabbed Derek in a hard hug, spinning them round and round on the ice, his deep laughter filling Derek’s helmet, eclipsing his own euphoria and staying with him long after the game had ended.

It had been the beginnings of a truce, the moment they stopped ignoring each other off the ice and started paying more attention. Or at least Derek had. Their fighting had been limited to meaningless arguments after that, fewer buttons pushed, fewer lines skirted. Maybe, Derek thought, as he watched Dex take the front steps of the Haus two at a time, maybe his brain had been blocking his acceptance of this stupid attraction the whole time. Maybe he had _always_ found the neat taper of Dex’s waist to be art, the kind that made him itch for a sketchbook and graphite and an empty afternoon with nothing but the view ahead of him.

Maybe.

“Dudes! You’re missing the Great British Bakeoff!” Chowder called from the den when they entered, Bitty seated beside him on the floor, pen poised over a worn notepad.

“Test,” Dex waved, flawlessly extricating him—them—from further comment or participation while Derek was still trying to find his tongue.

“Smooth,” Derek muttered, rolling his eyes at Dex’s pointed smirk.

It occurred to him as they climbed the paint-worn stairs in the Haus, that they hadn’t entirely thought through every implication of what was about to happen.  

Not the blow job—the delayed anticipation and the healthy dose of quiet introspection while they walked were basically Derek’s _jam_ —but the location of the forthcoming deed. Once they crossed that not entirely metaphorical threshold—the shared space where they slept and dressed and ate junk food and did homework and argued over X-Files episodes and whose turn it was to pick up all the dirty socks—well… He should have realized, they _both_ should have realized, what a truly fucked up idea it was to do this _here_. Where they would have nowhere to hide. Where the memory of the act would hang, omnipresent and visceral, forever.

The closing of the door behind him was the nail in Derek’s coffin, because he was summarily pushed against the cold, paneled wood and covered shoulder to knee with scorching Maine resplendence, everything he thought he hated, and everything he knew he didn’t. It was the drag of a cold nose along his neck that had him shuddering, but it was the supersized hands pinning him to the door that had him exquisitely, dizzingly hard.

“Nurse,” Dex mumbled, head falling to his shoulder. “What the fuck.”

It was more a statement than a question, but it flooded Derek with calm reassurance; he wasn’t alone in his freakout.

He flipped them neatly round and smiled at the high color in Dex’s cheeks. Normally he could, _would_ , chirp him for the flush, but the truth was, had always been, he found it a lovely complement to his unusual coloring. To his stupid, handsome face. “What?” He asked belatedly, returning the cold nose on neck and hands on hips.

Dex’s head hit the door with a dull thud. “I’m not convinced you know what you’re doing,” he rasped, eyes half closed and deceptively dark.  

Derek felt the corner of his mouth raise, unbidden humor and weirdly satisfying affection blooming across his chest. “I’ve sucked dick before, William.”

Dex snorted. “I’m not talking about _that._ ” He waved his hand around the room. “I mean this. The…ambiance is lacking, you feel me?”

He was teasing, Derek _knew_ he was teasing, but his heart did a traitorous flip anyway, and he couldn’t help but chirp right back. “You want me to woo you, Poindexter?” He asked, voice pitching lower. He slid the top button free on Dex’s jeans, smirking when the muscles under his fingers quivered and jerked. “You need a little romance to get your juices flowing?” He bent forward and ran his nose along the edge of Dex’s jaw again, smiling to himself when he was met with a quickly indrawn breath. “I think I have a half-burned Bath  & Bodyworks candle in my top dresser drawer.”

Dex’s laugh was strangled, hitching. “You would.” He groaned when Derek dropped to his knees.

“I would,” Derek agreed, pulling at jeans and underwear and mapping all of that gorgeous freckled skin in his mind, to savor later. He wasn’t sure whose moan filled the air, lilting over their breathing like a bell, as his mouth found purchase on velvet soft skin. Maybe it was both of them.  

“This doesn’t mean anything, right?” Dex mumbled, eyes fluttering and beautiful and painful all at once. “We still hate each other, I still want to murder you ninety percent of the time.”

“Whatever you need, baby,” Derek muttered, too far gone to care, too close to the thing he hadn’t known was so necessary for his own survival, to allow the barb to stick. There would be time enough to acknowledge the ache later. Right now he wanted Dex to fall apart, to acquiesce, to _need_ this, as much as Derek did, _like air,_ and he focused on that, only that.  

“Don’t call me that,” Dex said, the harshness subdued by the gentle tangle of his fingers in Derek’s curls and the soft pants escaping from his lips.

There was pain there too, blade sharp, but Derek pushed it aside, sublimating it in the scent and taste and feel of this moment, until nothing else remained.


	4. Chapter 4

_Fuck,_ Derek thought. _Fucking fuck fuck._

As it turned out, Will Poindexter was _really_ good at this.

Those giant hands were basically enchanted, and he had a lushly filthy mouth, in the way of Derek’s most secret fantasies. But he was also protective and sweet and considerate, and he kissed like he had literally all the time in the world. And if that weren’t enough to obliterate Derek completely, from the inside out, he also had the upper body strength of a lumberjack (of the manhandling kind), and an enviable longevity that allowed him to worship every inch of Derek’s body until he thought he might actually die.

Oh, and he cuddled.

Yeah, Derek was effectively ruined for sex with anyone else, like, for _ever_.

“Nurse,” Dex murmured, combing his fingers through Derek’s hair in exactly the way Derek had always hated—except it felt amazing when Will did it ( _Will!_ ) and he kind of never wanted him to stop. “Nurse, this can never happen again.”

Derek stilled; so much for basking in the afterglow. “Why?” He moved as if to roll away, seeking self-preservation, but Dex held him fast against his side, torturously and sadistically perfect. He was warm and solid and the moment was still so tangentially lovely, that Derek clung to the possibility of never actually leaving the floor. Or getting dressed. Or letting Will get dressed. They could eat naked. Bitty would feed them. Probably. 

“Because I like playing with you.” Dex’s voice was quietly sincere against his ear, the brush of his lips feather light, tickling the lobe. “I like being your partner. I don’t want to lose that because one of us lost their damned mind over a quick piece of ass.”

“It wasn’t _that_ quick,” Derek mumbled with the tiniest flash of tartness, smiling sadly at the honesty; how many ways had Dex been trying to say the same while he ranted for all these months?

Dex’s arm snaked fully around his waist _._ “You know what I mean.”

“I know, “ Derek sighed. _He would not cry,_ he thought, but his eyes burned just the same. He had always been stupidly sensitive about sex, especially if feelings were involved, and he might as well be hanging upside down for all he understood which way his emotions were currently pointing. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth for a beat before rolling over, resting his chin on one fist in the middle of Dex’s chest. His pulse quickened when a freckled hand moved to brush the hair from his eyes, assured and patient and with that same lovely care and consideration that Dex had shown when he had worked his way from Derek’s ankles to his dick, in gentle, measured kisses. That carefulness, the warm palm at Derek’s neck and the strong fingers circling his bicep—that meant something. _Right_? “So, we don’t let it. This is—” Derek broke off, embarrassed by the crack in his voice, his mouth so dry he had to swallow. He didn’t know what this was, only that it would eventually annihilate every piece of him, and that, right now, he didn’t care. This glimpse of who Dex was, this side he had never known, would never have imagined—it was worth a lot. It was certainly worth his pride and Derek thought if given the chance, he might chase its origin until the end of days.

“Private,” Dex said quietly, almost under his breath, his amber eyes serious beneath the dark shadow of his lashes. “This is ours, and it’s private, and even if it only happens this once.” He ran his fingers through Derek’s hair, hesitantly at first, then across his shoulders, coming to rest at his back. “Even if it’s just this.”

Derek couldn’t help but feel like there was some sentiment lacking in that statement, some piece of information he was missing from the exchange. But his pitiful heart clung to the _ours_ and maybe the promise of _again_ , and it would have to be enough. Dangerous things teetered on the tip of his tongue, and he needed to move, _now,_ before they came spilling out. His voice was less than steady when he quirked his head and went for nonchalance. “Shower?”

He relished the hand that smoothed over his back again, almost as much as the dramatic grimace on Dex’s face.

“You _are_ gross.”

“Jackass,” Derek pouted, in an attempt to preserve at least some of his dignity. His heart mocked him, flinging itself from his stomach to his throat in a not-so-subtle reminder that he was still a romantic idiot.

Dex laughed and sat up, dislodging him with a playful shove. “It would serve you right if your face froze like that. You’ve always been too pretty for your own good.” He rolled to his feet, liquid smooth, and stretched. Derek was torn between preening under the unexpected praise and staring at the impressive figure he cut, silhouetted in the overhead light. “It’ll have to be fast, though,” Dex continued. “I need to run over to the lab and help with that code.”

“So you’re one of _those_ boyfriends,” Derek volleyed back, glancing around for his underwear and taking liberties with words, but too chickenshit to watch the result _._ He choked when Dex reached down and hauled him to his feet, completely unself-conscious as he grabbed a handful of Derek’s ass and ground their hips together.

“If by _one of those,_ you mean has a wicked fast refractory time, well…” Dex tutted under his breath and stepped neatly around him to head for their adjoining bathroom. “If you don’t stop pouting, I guess you’ll never know.”

Never let it be said that Derek Nurse, romantic idiot, was one to let a challenge go unaccepted.

_X_

As Derek had previously established to the universe, rejection had never been his kink. But competence _so_ fucking was, and the universe handed him William Poindexter—who had competence in spades.

Derek had followed him to the lab, both from raging curiosity and the lovesick after burn of good sex, and he was already half hard again from watching Dex run circles around everyone else. And by _run,_ he meant patiently make his way from person to person, station to station, with his big hands and pretty eyes and tiny waist and _Jesus..._ Derek might actually be in real trouble.

Dex helped a freshman with a homework problem, a group of four with a website, and then— _bestill Derek’s heart—_ showed the head of the Computer Science department how to fix a recurring issue with their server.

Derek was _so_ going to blow him again when they got back to the Haus.

Occasionally Dex’s eyes would catch his, and he would throw him a quick wink, or a knowing smirk, and Derek’s heart would flutter nauseatingly quick, and his pants would get just a little bit tighter. He couldn’t help but think of every single time they had fought on the ice, and off, of how pink the tips of Dex’s ears would get when he shouted, and he honestly couldn’t remember what that sounded like. He could only remember the feel of Dex’s mouth against his skin, of the words he pressed into him, more than a few of those a whispered _I’m sorry …_

Dex passed him on the way to bank of servers, and pressed his thumb into the mark he had sucked into the back of Derek’s neck in the shower, his aim unerring even hidden by the bill of Derek’s snapback.

Oh yeah. Derek was genuinely in trouble here.

Dex reappeared, snapping his fingers in front of his face. “Yo.”

“Stop that,” Derek scowled, slapping his hand away and flushing, afraid the literal mush of his insides might be showing on his face.

Dex chuckled. “You still with me? Come down to the basement. I need a strong set of arms.”

“A strong set of arms, he says,” Derek muttered as he followed, admiring how nice Dex’s butt looked in his decidedly non-designer jeans. _Lobster chic._ “Should have known you only invited me to be your own personal pack mule.”

“You invited yourself,” Dex threw over his shoulder with a grin, dodging Derek’s weak and poorly aimed punch.

Of course, Derek didn’t _really_ mind. One—he needed to move. He had been stationary with his thoughts too long, and two—Dex lifting heavy objects was a sight to behold. His shoulders rippled and his neck was deliciously wide, and well, _fuck_ Derek’s life that’s all. The steady sheen of sweat coating Dex’s brow was pairing with the dark seclusion of the basement to make him horny as hell.

“Dex, let me blow you.”

“What!?” Dex squeaked, bumping his head on a lower shelf. “Nursey, Jesus Christ. The fucking door is wide open.”

“I’ll be quick. We can scoot over, into the shadows.” Derek’s palms itched and his mouth watered and he thought he might be losing his mind, but he _wanted._

“You’re _not_ blowing me in the basement of the Computer Science building.”

Derek was of the opinion Dex didn’t sound entirely convinced. “Then you blow me. I’m an equal opportunity dick sucker.”

“ _Nurse._ ”

“Dex, I’m _dying._ ” His hand shot out and he grabbed Dex’s wrist, bringing his palm to the rather obvious problem in his pants.

Dex’s fingers twitched against the soft fabric of his sweats and Derek had to stifle a whimper.

“Jesus Christ,” Dex exhaled again, before reaching around Derek and dragging him close, slotting one knee between his thighs. “Go at it,” he murmured, dropping a kiss to the side of Derek’s mouth.

And sure, it was not the most romantic nor the least awkward lay of Derek’s life, but rubbing one out in the basement of the Computer Science building, riding William Poindexter’s muscular thigh, wasn’t half bad, either.

He was still glassy eyed and panting when Dex took pity on him and shoved him into the wall, pulling his dick above the elastic of his joggers and finishing him in ten quick strokes. “ _Jesus_ ,” Dex repeated hoarsely, kissing him to swallow his moans. After, when he wiped his hands on an old sheet of dot matrix printer paper, Derek laughed.

“What? No one is ever using that again anyway,” Dex shrugged, before tucking Derek back into his sweats and rolling his own neck with a sigh. “Do you think you can make it now?” he asked, and Derek suspected he was only half teasing.

Hell, Derek was only half teasing, when he answered, “Maybe.” _What is life?_

“Well I can’t drag you to the basement to suck you off every 30 minutes or someone’s bound to get suspicious, so try to contain yourself.”

Derek groaned, his head clanging against the metal shelf at his back. “Then stop being so hot, _fuck._ ”

Dex blinked. “Hot. Dismantling a server.”

“You don’t understand,” Derek muttered, breathless and –godalmighty—tingling. His entire body felt like it was on fire. “The way you take charge and _explain_ and _fuck,_ Will _.”_ He waved his hands around limply. “Demonstrate!”

Dex snorted, eyes amused as they roamed over his face. “You have a teacher kink, Nurse?” He shifted a little closer. “You need Professor Poindexter to… _tutor_ you?”

Derek grabbed Dex by the ears and yanked him in for a hard kiss.

Dex was still chuckling when they broke apart. “You’re something else,” he said quietly, and Derek let the affection in his tone float over him like soft blanket. “Come on,” Dex stepped back and reached for his hand. “If you’ll be good, I’ll take apart your old boombox when we get back to our room. And then put it back together. Piece by piece.”

Before they reached the top of the stairs, Derek tugged at his hand. “Define _be good._ ”

Dex rolled his eyes. “Stop looking at me like you’re going to eat me, for starters.”

“But I am,” Derek shrugged with a grin. “Couple of times.” He was rewarded with a flush of bright pink in Dex’s cheeks.

“ _Nurse_.”

“ _Poindexter_.”

Dex glanced around the empty hall and then cupped Derek’s cheek before kissing him once, hard and quick. “Just keep the Poindexter buffet fantasy on a slow simmer so I can work, okay? You’re hella distracting.” He kissed him again and turned toward the lab.

 _Hella distracting._ Derek’s grin split his face as he followed.

His feet never touched the ground.


	5. Chapter 5

Derek groaned when his phone alarm went off, entirely too early.

Fuck mornings.

A muscled arm swung across his body and slapped at the nightstand, silencing the phone and dropping heavily onto his chest.

“Why.”

This was followed by disgruntled mumbling and a cold nose at the back of Derek’s neck, and he snorted sleepily. _Why indeed._ “Because some of us have morning lecture, William.”

“No.”

“No?”

The arm around his chest squeezed, and the lips at his neck nipped. “ _No._ ”

Derek grinned. As nice as it would be to ignore the alarm and stay in bed, he actually liked this class.

Although this was…good. The bed could definitely use some expansion, but there was something awfully appealing about waking up entangled in grumpy Maine fisherman.

After finishing at the computer lab the night before, they had returned to the Haus just in time for Bitty’s lasagna, and if anyone noticed Derek purposefully taking the seat next to Dex at the dinner table they didn’t mention it. Nor did anyone make a fuss over him perching on the arm of Dex’s recliner while he handily rousted Chowder at Mario Kart. Or when they went up to bed together, at the same time, with similar flimsy excuses about _homework._

The crazy thing was, flimsy excuses aside—they didn’t even have sex. They burrowed down in the blankets on Derek’s bed and watched some creepy documentary on Netflix about serial killers, making out when Derek got squeamish, Dex’s hands roaming freely under his shirt, to _‘distract him’_. 

“That could _literally_ be anyone we know, though,” Derek shivered. “That guy that mans the fruit stand in the caf? Sketch as fuck.”

“I got you,” Dex murmured, covering him in kisses and warmth and reassurance.

At some point they brushed their teeth and got under the covers, and it was the most natural thing in the world to drift off to sleep. They didn’t talk about it, they just sort of…fell into it. Together. And it would probably, likely, almost definitely, implode before the week was out, but for now Derek was happy to ride the cotton candy cloud of it until it burst.

He should ask more questions. Clarify. Seek stability and truth. 

Instead he rolled out of bed and patted the tuft of red hair peeking out from under his favorite comforter and staggered into the bathroom for a quick shower and an eight o’clock Early Italian Lit.

_X_

 ** _Will:_** _I need to shave_

Derek grinned. _Unlikely._

 **_Will:_ ** _Ha ha. Really though. I have a whisker._

Derek had to swallow down the spontaneous laughter bubbling up in his throat. Witty Will Poindexter was kind of his favorite. _Are you sure it’s not just migrating fuzz from my Netflix sweater?_

 **_Will:_ ** _Who wears a sweater for Netflix and chill? Doesn’t that…defeat the purpose?_

 **_Derek:_ ** _Some of us are pure, William._

 **_Will:_ ** _Some of us are full of shit, Derek._

Derek bit his lip, tapping his pencil against his temple before typing out a single word. _Lunch?_

 **_Will:_ ** _Can’t—ass deep in code_

 **_Derek:_ ** _I could swing by with a doggie bag_

His stomach fluttered nervously as he watched the little dots appear and disappear at least four times. He scratched out a few notes in his notebook, trying to look attentive. Dr. Heinrich was a tyrant and she had already frowned at him once for having his phone out. They weren’t strictly off limits, the way laptops were (she said that hand writing notes put them in two places in your brain, whereas typing was too much like mindless scrolling to be beneficial), but they were strongly discouraged unless it was an emergency.

Will Poindexter’s shaving habits and lunch plans almost assuredly qualified as an emergency.

 **_Will:_ ** _Are you wearing the black jeans?_

 **_Derek:_ ** _Ummm.._

 **_Derek:_ ** _Yes?_

 **_Will:_ ** _Then for the love of Christ stay away from the lab_

Derek had to bite into the skin of his cheek to hold back a snort _._ He hadn’t even formed a reply when a second text appeared.

 **_Will:_ ** _Like how do you even get them on?!?_

 **_Will:_ ** _?!_

 **_Derek:_ ** _They make my ass look nice. Totally worth the extra ten minutes in the morning._

 **_Will:_ ** _Shut up._

 **_Will:_ ** _Just shut the hell up and don’t come near me when I’m trying to solder electrical components_

Derek glanced down at himself. He should probably mention he had also swiped one of Will’s discarded flannels, the deep green and black plaid, because it flattered his eyes and it smelled just like Will. _I’ll be there in twenty minutes._

 **_Will:_ ** _I hate you._

_X_

It was probably weird how much he knew about Dex’s food preferences.

He hated ground beef dishes, unless they were a burger; he loved chicken anything, particularly dark meat. He preferred mashed potatoes over baked but au gratin was his weakness.

He liked chocolate cake for dessert and would rather eat dirt than a carrot.

 He was also generally too strict with his diet in season and rarely treated himself, and would never, ever, _ever_ choose to add the extra desserts that Derek piled onto his tray (besides—Bitty took care of them in that regard, anyway), but he wasn’t sure if Will’s avoidance of extras was a budget thing or a fitness thing. It was almost reassuring not to know, to have something to learn later.

And it was mildly alarming how quickly _Will_ was replacing _Dex_ in his head.

He decided not to worry about it overmuch.

He paid at the cashier the farthest from the fruit stand man, the spot right between his shoulder blades tingling as (probably) imaginary eyes followed him. _Totally sketch._

_X_

The complete and total blankness of Will’s face was worth every penny spent on chocolate cake.

Or the jeans.

Or both.

“Hey Nurse!” A girl by the bookshelf waved.

“Hey.” Derek nodded first in her direction, then at Will. “And hi.” 

“Is that my shirt?” Will raised one brow.

Derek feigned surprise as he glanced down at his attire. “Is it? I wonder how that happened?”

“Shut your face,” Will muttered, grabbing his elbow and steering him toward the back of the lab, where there was a grouping of large round tables and chairs.

“Not too fast,” Derek chided. “My jeans are a little, um, _tight._ ”

“Seriously, Nurse,” Will groaned. “Shut up.”

Derek chuckled and took pity on him, dropping the bags of food on the table and plopping into a chair. “Rough day?”

“You have no idea,” Will sighed, looking mildly intrigued as Derek began pulling containers from the sacks. “Wait—is that chocolate cake?”

Derek shouldn’t be so charmed by the lilting excitement in Will’s voice, but dammit, he _was._ “Maybe?” He winked as he held it across the table. “If you’re good.”

“Not even chocolate cake is going to get you a second trip to the basement, Nurse,” Will said dryly, setting the container carefully to the side.

“No? What about chocolate cake _and_ au gratin potatoes? Hmmm?” He slid the second box across the table, chuckling at Will’s look of abject joy. “How’re those basement odds now?”

“Getting better,” Will muttered under his breath, flipping up the lid and breathing in deep. “Oh my God. Marry me, Nurse.”

Derek didn’t let himself react at all, something he would pride himself on much later, but the words sent an unbidden thrill right through the very heart of him, giving life to a longing he as yet had never known. “You wish,” he tossed back with an easy grin, grateful that Will wasn’t watching too closely, too absorbed in the food to see what the words cost him. He opened his own box of tabbouleah.

“Oh Lord, you’re not eating roots and leaves while I eat real food, are you?” Will complained, mouth full and partially open and basically disgusting.

Derek thought he must be in love, because he still thought he was completely adorable. He tossed a napkin in his face. “Don’t talk with your mouth full. If I could actually move—or breathe—in these jeans, I would come over there and beat you silly for mocking my totally organic and healthy lunch choices.”

Will smirked, a mischievous tint to his cheeks. “Was that a euphemism for sex?”

Derek blinked. “What? No!” He cocked his head. “Unless you want it to be?”

Will snorted and threw the napkin back. “Shut up, and go get me that screwdriver I left on the window sill.”

 Derek glanced back at the bank of windows. “Screwdriver.” He shrugged. “Okay?” When he returned a few seconds later, screwdriver in hand, Will’s face was entirely too satisfied not to get suspicious. “What the fuck is the look for, Poindexter?” He spun around in a circle, looking for something remiss with his clothes or his chair or his food.

“Nothing,” Will shrugged. “I might need you to take it back in a bit.”

“What? No. Take your own screwdriver. Wait, why is your drink on the floor?” He turned and bent over to gather up the lidded drink from where it rested on the carpet. When he turned back around, Will was grinning ear to ear. “Oh for the love of _Christ._ ” Derek dropped into his chair with a laugh, tempted to toss the contents of the cup in Will’s smug face. “Seriously Will?”

“What?” Will shrugged. He leaned forward and whispered, “Your ass looks _spectacular_ in those jeans.”

“Now you owe me ten minutes in the basement,” Derek grumbled, cheeks on fire and pulse fluttering like mad.

Will winked and took a bite of chocolate cake. “Only if you’re good.”


	6. Chapter 6

It had been eight days, two hours, and six minutes since Derek Nurse kissed Will Poindexter for the first time.

Eight days and no one had been maimed.

Eight days and Derek no longer bothered with tiny half loads of laundry, he grabbed Will’s stuff too, he might as well, he was going anyway.

Eight days and Derek’s laptop had never ran so quiet and smooth (hard drive optimization was a real turn on. Apparently.)

Eight days, and Derek was finally starting to feel like he could exhale, like he wouldn’t bump this carefully constructed bubble and watch it—and him—shatter.

His need for words, for a name to call this thing they were doing, was a quiet hum in the back of his head, but it was lessened every time Will texted him in the middle of the day with some random fact, just to make him smile.

**_Will:_ ** _Did you know if you could drive your car straight up, you would be in outer space in an hour?_

**_Derek:_ ** _Nerd._

It was lessened every time Will stumbled into their bedroom, half past eleven and smelling like the computer lab, a mix of burning batteries and stale coffee and double-chocolate brownies, his tired eyes always lighting up when he spotted Derek still awake and waiting, sprawled across the bottom bunk. Sometimes they stumbled in together (Derek could solder a mean circuit board now), sometimes it was Will waiting up for Derek, nodding through Derek’s animated reenactment of Jonah McIntosh’s amazing poetry slam, and even if the subject matter wasn’t exactly to his taste, Derek never felt like Will wasn’t listening. He would chuckle at the funny bits and ask questions if he was confused, punctuating this intoxicatingly attentive demeanor with strong hands that undressed him and soft lips that fell on his neck, in exactly the way Derek liked.

It maybe irked Derek a little, how no one in the Haus had even noticed. They rarely fought anymore, save a couple of irritable yet familiar spats on the ice, (and for the record, makeup sex was Derek’s goddamn _favorite_ ). They met for lunch almost daily, they studied together, they went to bed together, they were so in sync it felt like they were being…So. Fucking. Obvious.

And yet their closest friends, their team, had barely blinked. It was irritating. It made Derek itch to do something outrageous, like crawl onto Will’s lap in the middle of team lunch and kiss him until he was breathless.

It was different in the lab. They were both more comfortable there, maybe because Derek was an unknown, no expectations other than what the lab crew had already gleaned from Will—which, amusingly, was apparently a lot—and they had taken to showing small displays of affection with increasing ease and regularity. Although, the first time Will had leaned across a table and kissed him on the mouth, Derek had been so dumbfounded he had stared as he left the room, until the freshman Will was tutoring snorted and told him to stop drooling before he electrocuted himself.

Derek was the one waiting up now, rereading a chapter in his history textbook for the third time, literally nothing about the industrial revolution currently sticking. He glanced up, relieved, when the door opened; he could use a good distraction. Will’s face was pinched and dark and for half a second, Derek’s heart skipped a beat. It had been a long time since he had looked at Derek like that, like he was angry or hurting or— _Oh_.

Derek sat up. “What’s wrong.”

Will shook his head, wincing at the slight motion. “Headache from hell,” he muttered, letting his backpack slide to the floor and slipping off his shoes. His movements were slow and careful, measured as though he was trying desperately not to make it worse. Derek threw back the blanket and sheet and held out a hand, gently pulling him onto the bed. Will lowered himself to the pillows so slowly, Derek found himself tensing empathetically.

“Fuck, I forgot my clothes,” Will cursed, moving as though to sit back up.

“I’ve got it,” Derek soothed, holding his shoulder firmly in place against the mattress. “Close your eyes and relax. Let me grab you some Tylenol.” He rolled away and Will caught his wrist.

“No, I had something,” he mumbled. “Can’t have more for three hours.”

Derek frowned. Will was obviously in more pain than a normal headache and his mind raced over their last practice. “Did you hit your head? Do I need to call Coach? Take you over to Student Health?” He relaxed when Will smiled weakly.

“No, babe, stop.” He blinked slowly; he was so pale his freckles were almost completely leeched of color. “I get migraines. I just didn’t catch this one in time.” He swallowed hard and closed his eyes again. “Hurts.”

Derek didn’t outwardly react to the endearment, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t affected. A tiny curl of pleasure unfurled in his stomach. _Don’t call me that,_ indeed. _Game on, Poindexter._ “Don’t move. I’m getting you an ice pack.” Derek climbed over him . “And then I’m taking all your clothes off. But not in the sexy way.”

Will snorted, and then immediately grimaced. “Don’t make me laugh, jerk.”

Derek had never experienced migraines, rarely ever had a headache, but his sister had suffered from them most of her life so he was familiar with the basics. He flipped off the main light as he left the room for the kitchen. Downstairs, he made quick work of filling a large plastic zipper bag with ice, and snagged a bottle of water and a can of Coke from the fridge. The Haus was subdued, even the living room empty and still.

When he returned to the bedroom, Will remained in the same prone position, one forearm covering his eyes, and he frowned in sympathy. He made a stop in the bathroom first, for a hand towel to wrap around the ice, then placed the drinks on the nightstand before crawling over Will to take his place by the wall. It wasn’t their usual sleeping arrangement (Derek liked to face the door without obstruction), but he would survive one night.

Will’s eyes were dark as he watched him tie the towel around the ice pack. “You don’t have to fuss.”

“Yeah I do, my name is literally Nurse.”

Will laughed softly and then winced. “Damn you.”

Derek dropped a kiss to his forehead. “Stop moving and tell me where you want the ice.”

Will reached up and grabbed his wrist, guiding his hands to the right position on his temple. “There’s good.”

“Okay,” Derek murmured, mostly to himself. He peeled off his own t-shirt and balled it up to shove under the ice, propping it in place.

“Mmm, floor show,” Will winked drowsily. Derek wondered if his migraine medicine knocked him out.

“Quiet you, so I can take off your pants.” Derek tried to be as efficient as possible as he stripped him down to his briefs, tossing the shirt and jeans to the floor. He found he was unable to resist mouthing the shadowy indentions of Will’s insanely perfect abs, though. There was so much amazing goodness—all for Derek—hiding under that everyday cotton farmboy flannel.

“I don’t remember this part from Grey’s Anatomy,” Will murmured.

“Then you weren’t watching close enough,” Derek shot back, peppering kisses up his torso until he landed at his mouth. He was gentle there, too, but brief. “I’m going to cuddle you so hard, baby.” Derek nuzzled under his chin.  

Will sighed, turning gingerly onto his side when Derek nudged at his shoulder. “You heard that, did you?”

Derek grinned, letting his mouth fall open over the warm skin of Will’s neck. “Yup.” He slid down behind him and pulled the blankets over them both.

“I don’t even get a pass for being sick?”

“No sir, you said it. I’m your baby and that’s that.”

“Fine.” Will laced their fingers together over his chest. “But I’m an NCAA Division I hockey player, so I don’t cuddle.”

“Mm hmm,” Derek murmured, pulling him close. “Get in here, little spoon.”

Derek was just dozing off when Will said, “If you call me that in practice, I’m not sucking your dick for a week.”

Derek grinned sleepily. “Whatever, you can’t resist me. And I’m having t-shirts made. Mine is going to say _I’m the big spoon_.”

“You’re the worst boyfriend,” Will muttered, squeezing his hand.

Derek smiled and kissed the back of his head, hard. “Go to sleep, jackass.”

In his head the hum was silent.

_Boyfriend._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just purely self-indulgent at this point :D


	7. Chapter 7

Probably Derek should have locked the door.

He had been worried about Will, hands full with ice packs and cold drinks and thoughts crashing in on one another, and sue him. He forgot to turn the lock.

Their room had quickly become a haven, though, the one place in the Haus where they were free to touch at will, where neither of them was waiting for a chirp or an awkward question. Where they were relearning each others spaces within the context of sharing, and taking advantage of the private quietness of a world only they inhabited. It was safe and warm and Derek craved it after a long day, the same way he was beginning to crave Will, his smile and his stupid cold nose on his neck and his big hands and, well. He forgot. That was last night though, and this was this morning, and Will was fucking hot, and he was mostly naked in Derek’s bed, and his headache was down to a dull simmer, and there was morning wood and…

Yeah.

He should have locked the damn door.

 _Poor Chowder,_ Will would later snicker, head buried in Derek’s shoulder.

He didn’t really _see_ anything (that was Derek’s story and he was sticking to it), there were no assholes or dicks on display. And everything was _mostly_ covered up. It could have been worse, it could have been a _lot_ worse. Hell, Derek could have been riding Will like the mechanical bull down at Choncey’s instead of rutting their boxer-covered dicks together during a filthy, gorgeous kiss.

Not that it mattered to Chowder, whose betrayal was evident as soon as the squeak of shock subsided.

He would have gone after him, but Will caught him by the waist.

“Wait.”

“But—” Derek hesitated. Chowder was his best friend—one of only two—and he deserved an explanation, belated though it was. He had hated hiding this from Chowder most of all.

“He’s embarrassed, babe. And you’re hard.”

Derek winced. Sometimes Will’s bluntness wasn’t a blessing. “So?” He asked irritably, rolling off of him, but not leaving, Will’s steady hand against his skin a grounding force.

“So…” Will shrugged, and Derek noted how tired he looked, the shadows under his eyes purple and deep. “You know Chris. He’ll feel guilty that he interrupted, on top of being super embarrassed and a little bit pissed at both of us. I think he might benefit from some space.”

Derek crumpled onto the pillow beside him and hid his face in his shoulder. “He’s embarrassed? _I’m_ embarrassed.”

“We’ve all seen you having sex before, Nurse, ” Will said flatly, an edge to his inflection.

Derek wiggled closer, mutely asking for a snuggle, squeezing his eyes closed when Will gathered him inside the circle of his arms. “I’m sorry.”

He felt more than saw Will shrug again.

“Life can only be understood backwards, but it must be lived forwards.”

Derek’s head shot up, a sharp thrill shooting down his spine. “Since when do you quote Kierkegaard?”

Will ran one hand up Derek’s back, a slow drag that matched the sleepy smile on his face. “Since I started dating a smart boy.”

Derek’s cheeks flamed, but he was helpless to stop it, or the warmth that rushed through his bones. “Dating, huh?”

“Mm hmm,” Will leaned up and kissed him. “Exclusively,” he added, and there was that edge again, the tiniest bite to accompany the increased strength of his arms.

“Ha.” Derek kissed him again, mostly to prevent melting into a puddle all over the bed. “As if I’d stand by and let this—” he slid a hand under Will’s butt and squeezed the closest cheek. “Tap anything else, like, ever.”

Will’s answering smile was something else; Derek’s heart fluttered out of control in response. “As if I’d ever want to. Have you _seen_ you?”

“I’m embarrassed again,” Derek protested, cheeks aching, smile wide.

“And hard,” Will nodded sagely.

“I’m sucking your dick,” Derek pronounced, bounding up and nearly bashing his head on the underside of the bunk bed.

Will almost fell out of bed laughing.

Until he wasn’t laughing anymore.

They still forgot to lock the door.

_X_

“It’s okay, honey. Happens to all of us, sooner or later, living in each other’s pocket the way we do.” Bitty handed Derek a cookie.

“Bits, can we not?” Derek groaned, shoving half the cookie in at once.

It was bad enough he had had to go apologize slash confess to his best friend that he was, yes, doing the do with their _other_ best friend and had been for over a week.

To then get caught in the act _by their captain—_ well. It was almost more than Derek’s poor ego could take in one day.

“What? I didn’t see anything,” Bitty protested primly, stretching back on the blanket where they sat. It was a gorgeous November day, uncharacteristically warm in a rapidly cooling fall, and Derek, Will, Bitty, and a few others had met on the quad to enjoy the weather (i.e. skip afternoon classes). Most of Samwell had obviously had the same idea and a pickup game of football had ensued.

“You’re a fucking terrible liar Eric Bittle,” Derek grumbled, sucking in a breath as he watched Will’s lanky body stretch high in the air to catch a spiraling pass. _Fuck_.

“Oh honey.” Bitty chortled at the look on Derek’s face.

“Shut up,” Derek punched him in the shoulder. “And you have eyes. _Look_ at him. Jesus take the wheel.”

“Oh believe me, I know,” Bitty grinned. “I’ve always had a thing for redheads.” He seemed to realize what he said and his eyes were twinkling when he winked. “Don’t tell Jack.”

Derek snorted. He didn’t know if that made the whole fiasco this morning better or worse.

Although maybe fiasco was too strong a term. The orgasm, when it finally came— _haha,_ Derek grinned—was spectacular. It just took them three tries and a locked bathroom door to get there.

And two minorly scarred teammates.

Bitty hadn’t fared quite so well as Chowder; Will was fully naked and Derek’s mouth was fully… _full_ when Bitty had poked his head in to check on them. Chowder’s flustered behavior had erroneously tipped him off that something was remiss in Will and Derek’s room.  

 _Jesus Christ._ The back of Derek’s neck heated anew when he remembered Bitty’s softly gasped _Oh my, pardon me._

It had taken five minutes to get Will’s snickering under control. Derek was mortified—although why, he couldn’t say. Will was right, he’d been caught in flagrante delicto more than a few times in the past.

Maybe because this was more important, _Will_ was more important, and Derek was determined to do this right. He liked what he and Will were building and he had made a decision during team breakfast: he wasn’t going to be a passive participant in this. He was going to fight, even if that meant humiliating himself on the regular while they navigated what it meant to be dating in the SMH.

He started when Bitty elbowed him, hard.

“Smoking hot redhead, two o’clock.” Bitty passed him a fresh water bottle and another cookie.

Derek sat up straight and tried to process the surrealness of his world.

His _captain_ was helping him court his fellow d-man.

What even was his life?

Will dropped down next to him on the blanket, a sweaty, heaving, _mess_ of hotness and it took Derek a beat of appreciation (and a pointed glare from Bitty) before he could pass him the goods.

Will grinned and uncapped the water, slugging half of it down in one go and making Derek a little bit weak in the knees when he leaned over on one elbow and kissed him right on the mouth. “Thanks.”

A rivulet of sweat snaked it’s way down Will’s neck and pooled in the hollow of his throat.

“You’re welcome.” Derek might need to lie down.

“Wait—” Tango tilted his head, eyes darting from Will to Derek and back again. “What did we miss?”

“Where have _you_ been?” Whiskey asked, plopping down beside them and reaching for a cookie. “They’ve been moon-eyed for at least a week.”

“Moon-eyed doesn’t cover the _half_ of it,” Chowder added with a cheeky grin.

“Fuck me,” Derek moaned, falling to the blanket and hiding his face behind one hand. He bit his lip when Will found his other set of fingers and squeezed.

“Careful guys, Nurse is a delicate flower,” Will chirped around a mouthful of oatmeal raisin.

“If by delicate flower, you mean—”

“ _Bitty_.” Derek covered his face with _both_ hands; the ground could open up and swallow him whole right now, thank you very much.

On either side of him, his best friends hooted.

Yeah. Apparently this was his life.


	8. Chapter 8

“So.” Will hung his jacket up in the closet. “Thanksgiving is coming.”

Derek paused at Will’s tone. He sounded nervous, unsure, and it wasn’t a sound he had heard from him of late. “Uh huh.” He shrugged out of his own coat and hip checked Will out of the way.

“Do you, uh,” Will raked his hands through his hair, and Derek tried not to grin at the wildness of the strands when he was finished. “Do you have plans?”

Derek contemplated tossing his coat to the floor of their shared closet, just to see Will twitch. “Like, do we eat turkey and stuffing and watch manly sportsball? I mean.” He shrugged and hung his coat up next to Will’s, telling the thrill in his stomach to _shut up._ “I guess. We usually do a restaurant after the parade.”

“Oh. Right.” Will turned toward the bathroom and then stopped, staring at the half open door for a long beat.

“Will?” Derek thought—he hoped—he knew where this was going, and it was making him nine kinds of fuzzy-happy, but just in case he was wrong he took deep breath and exhaled slowly through his nose. “Do you—”

Will spun back around. “Come home with me.”

 “What?” Okay, so maybe he was wrong. He had been expecting Will to try and convince him to stay here, at Samwell. To tuck away together for the week and hide from the world. Which was tempting, seven days alone, no one but the two of them.

“Come home with me, meet my family. Have Thanksgiving with us.” The words were soft, almost, _almost,_ pleading.

“Meet your family?” Derek sucked in a deep breath. “Are you sure you want that? I mean, I’m…” He ran a hand down his chest. “I’m me.”

“And?” Will’s voice had an edge to it now, one that was becoming familiar, that usually meant he was irritated at some form of injustice, although rarely ever directed at Derek, not anymore.

“And…” Derek shrugged, confused. “You sure you don’t want to think about this a little more?”

“If you don’t want to come, just say so, Derek.”

“Don’t want to—” Now it was Derek’s turn to run his hands through his hair and he did, frustration dripping from his carefully enunciated syllables. “I didn’t say that. But I’m also not comfortable hiding what we are.” _Whatever that was,_ he thought, fighting the sudden firepit of angst in his stomach. He knew that they were living together, as boyfriends, that the word and all that it entailed still made him dizzily happy in a way he hadn’t quite gotten a handle on yet. He knew their friends and teammates were okay with it, and their immediate core group of acquaintances. And of course Derek had told his mom, and sister, but Will. Will was different. Will’s brother Jacob had teased him relentlessly about Samwell when he chose his matriculation path, and Will hadn’t been exactly quiet about some of the ugly slurs he’d tossed about. He rarely mentioned his family, and Derek had assumed that was because, to them, Will was straight—or at least not openly admitting he was in a relationship with another guy.

“You don’t seriously think I’d be ashamed to take you home with me.” Will took a step toward him.

“Well you did kinda act that way when we flipped for dibs.” Derek didn’t know where the words came from, but there they were, hanging between them, casting a chill over the tiny room.

“What?” Will’s voice was incredulous, jaw slack with surprise.

Derek struggled with the urge to lash out. He hated to admit it but sometimes it still stung, the way Will, _Dex,_ had lost it at the mere thought of sharing a room with him. “C’mon, you know you did.”

“What?” Will repeated, softer this time, one hand reaching forward to eliminate their separation, curving around Derek’s bicep and pulling him close. “That is _not_ why I freaked out.”

“No?” Derek could still taste the long-hidden bitterness, a hopeful surge in his chest quickly eclipsing it.

“ _Derek_.” Will wrapped around him, strong hands at his back, nosing at his temple, a gentle sigh ruffling Derek’s curls. “No. _No._ I freaked out, yeah. But it was because I knew there was no way in hell I could hide my giant boner for your stupid face.” He mouthed Derek’s cheekbone, lips trailing down to his jaw, to the corner of his lips, each kiss softer than the last. “Not if I had to sleep next to you, night after night after night after—”

Derek cut him off, slotting their mouths together, his movements bordering on desperate. Maybe he had been hanging on to that little insecurity too long. Will was here, and real, a perfect expanse of heat against his body, assured and steadfast and maybe, finally, Derek could let it go. Although not without one last chirp. He frowned when they came up for breath. “So you _don’t_ hate me.”

“Oh no. I hate you.” Will grinned, relief and affection shining in his eyes. “I hate the way you dress and the way you smell and the way your hair is so fucking perfect. I hate the way your eyes are the most gorgeous green, like the morning light on the sea, like my favorite fishing hole back home.” He edged Derek backward across the small room, fingers tight on his hips, pulling at the hem of his tee, a clear sign Derek would be naked in thirty seconds flat. “I hate the way you talk and walk and the way your abs are not even a fucking six pack, they’re like an _eight_ pack, _ten_ , and the divot between your hip and your dick, I hate that too, _so_ much.” He chuckled when Derek stumbled, catching him fast around the waist. “I hate when you smile and that stupid dent appears in your cheek. Oh and I hate the way you have always, _always_ , been so distracting, you light up every room and I hate it, _hate it,_ and—”

Derek kissed him, overwhelmed, skin tight and buzzing, emotions boiling hot and reckless and _good._

He had been wrong about the thirty seconds though; he was naked in twenty.

They were late to dinner, but it was okay, because Derek would skip a hundred meals to be on the receiving end of a long overdue apology from Will. (And never let it be said that Will Poindexter didn’t know how to apologize. Because _boy_ , _did he ever.)_

When they finally made it to the table in the kitchen, Derek was starry eyed and Will was smug.

Bitty and the guys gave them a standing ovation.

_X_

 

“Mom, Dad, this is Derek.” Will’s smile was brilliant and Derek desperately wanted to kiss him. How had he ever doubted him? “My boyfriend,” Will added, a hand at Derek’s waist nudging him forward. “Derek, this is my mom, Jennifer and my dad, David.”

If Will’s parents were surprised at the label, they hid it well. His mom was petite, with bouncing curls the exact shade of Will’s and bright blue eyes. She clasped Derek’s hand between both of her own.

“Call me Jen. It’s so nice to finally meet you, Derek.” Her smile was so like Will’s it hurt. “Oh, come here,” she laughed, and pulled Derek into a hug. She smelled like the flower stand in front of Derek’s brownstone in the springtime, _lilacs,_ and she passed him off to Will’s dad far too soon.

“Sir,” Derek nodded, offering his hand.

“Son,” David Poindexter smiled cautiously, his freckled cheeks ruddy from years spent in the sun. His hair was a dusty, dark blonde, but his eyes were amber, and surprisingly kind. “I hope the trip up wasn’t too bad?” He shoved his hands in the front of his jeans after they shook, his stance a little awkward. He was shorter than Will by several inches, and just on the wrong side of pudgy; if it weren’t for the obvious signs, Derek would wonder where the heck Will came from.

“It was fine. Not too bad, although Will drives like my grandma.”

David threw back his head and laughed, and the sound was so jolly it set Derek’s nerves immediately at ease. “That’s my careful boy,” he grinned, reaching for Will and giving him a hard hug. “Likes his speed on the ice, and not much else.”

“People can’t drive worth shit,” Will retorted crossly, but his eyes closed as he hugged his father back.

“William,” Jen admonished, curling a hand through the crook of Derek’s arm and pulling him toward the house. “Come on then, Sarah’s made cookies and she’s dying to meet you.”

_X_

“Did you warn them?” Derek would ask later, shocked at how open and loving Will’s family had been thus far.

“I told them I was bringing someone home, yeah.”

“Did you tell them it was someone with a dick?” Derek tossed back, tempering his crassness with a squeeze of Will’s hand, their fingers entwined as they stood on the same dock where Will had spent nearly all his summers.

“Yes.” Will squeezed back, shivering as the icy sea breeze washed over them. “My parents aren’t me, D.”

“What do you mean?” Derek watched as a seagull swooped into the dark water, its bill emerging seconds later with a fish.

“I mean… I had my own hangups, and issues, when we first met. I know that, you know that. And it’s not like my family ever openly supported gay rights. Maybe they do. We never talked about it, actually. But,” Will shrugged. “I did most of that to myself. The attitude, the fear, the self-loathing that made me lash out. That all came from here.” He tapped his chest, glancing over to find Derek watching him closely. “Kids weren’t exactly open minded at school, and maybe I didn’t have any gay role models to look up to. And frankly, my brother has always been kind of a dick. I definitely have dickish relatives.”

“Everyone does,” Derek murmured, wrapping an arm around Will’s waist, both to ward off the chill and because he honestly looked like he needed a hug.

“I’m not going to apologize for the rest of my life, I swear, but I _am_ sorry. I feel like I’ve grown a hundred years in the past two, and a lot of that is because of you.”

“Me?” Derek blinked.

“Shut up, you know it’s true,” Will leaned into him.

“Will.” Derek swallowed, wishing like hell they were somewhere alone and warm. He threw caution to the wind and darted forward to kiss him, cold lips and open Maine waterfront be damned. “Thank you.” They smiled at each other goofily for a good long minute. “And I like your family. Even your dick brother.”

They turned and made their way up the dock, toward the lone pickup truck in the lot.

“Yeah?” Will asked, pulling Derek’s gloved hand to his mouth.

“Yeah. He hates me, but whatever,” Derek looked pointedly at Will’s crotch. “I’ve won over bigger dicks.”

“Oh baby, you have such sweet pillow talk,” Will laughed. He slapped him on the ass as  he opened the truck door. “Now get in before we freeze our balls off.”

_X_

They spent the first night playing board games and watching sitcoms, ensconced in the Poindexter living room while a snow shower raged outside, the ice pinging the windows in the most comforting of white noises. It was cozy and homey and kind of perfect, even in all the ways it was different from what Derek was used to. And he had been right; Jacob wasn’t giving him nearly as big a stink eye _after_ they kicked Will’s ass at Monopoly (Jennifer Poindexter was nobody’s fool; she had paired Derek, Jacob, and Sarah from the start).

Derek had begged off first, sleepy from a big dinner and an entire day stressed about making a good impression. Jacob and Sarah had followed him up the stairs, leaving Will alone with his parents. Maybe they sensed that the three of them needed some time alone to reconnect.

It made Derek nervous. He took his time in the shower, but when he padded down the upstairs hall to Will’s bedroom, he still hadn’t returned. He should just climb under the covers and go to sleep. It was fine, Will was fine, his parents weren’t making him second guess himself or his feelings about Derek. They had been nothing but welcoming, they wouldn’t do that.

_Would they?_

 Derek cursed under his breath as he quietly left the room. Maybe he just needed a glass of water, and maybe he could catch Will’s eye, reassure himself that everything was still okay. That _they_ were still okay.

He paused before he got to the threshold of the living room, the conversation relentlessly clear in the hallway outside the door. He hesitated there, warring with himself over the need to know and the guilt for eavesdropping. From his vantage point, he could just make out their positions in the reflection on the windowpanes. Will was seated next to his mother on the couch, his dad across from the fire in his beat up green recliner.

“Will, I _don’t_ understand,” David was saying, careful and slow. “I’m not sure I can. It’s… hard.” He met Will’s eyes. “For me. I—”

“I love him.”

Will’s words were filled with such a quiet strength that Derek felt like all the air had been sucked from the tiny hall.

“I love him and I wanted you and Mom and Sarah and Jake—I wanted all of you to meet him, because I know, Dad. I know it’s not going to be easy. I know it may take a while, but if he’ll have me, then he’s it.” Will laughed softly, winded after his earnest speech. “I need you to at least try.”

“You’re both young,” his father said, shaking his head.

“He’s older than we were,” Jen murmured, reaching for Will’s hand. “It’s not hard to see why you love him, baby. He’s beautiful.”

“Mom,” Will winced, but he clung to her fingers.

“You didn’t let me finish,” she chided. “He’s beautiful inside _and_ out. And he looks at you like you hung the moon.” She glanced at her husband and smiled. “That’s enough for me.”

David shook his head again, rolling his eyes affably. “Romantic nonsense,” he teased.

“Says the man who brought me roses every Friday when he was courting me.”

“Ma, don’t say _courting_.”

“Damn near went broke,” David laughed. “I paid my car payment and my flower bill and ate ramen twice a day for six months.” His eyes were twinkling when he winked at Jen. “It was worth it.”

“Charmer,” she winked back.

“I think I’m uncomfortable,” Will muttered.

“Speaking of uncomfortable.” David’s smirk spread across his face.

“Oh God,” Will looked up at the ceiling and prayed for strength.

“Hon, don’t embarrass him. I can find you a documentary on Netflix if you need  intimate details.”

“ _Mom._ ” Will squeezed his eyes shut. “Can everyone please stop talking now?”

“Not _that._ I was talking about, you know,” David leaned forward in his chair. “ _Grandchildren.”_

“Jesus Christ,” Will muttered, wondering why he ever thought this was a good idea.

“Psh,” Jen waved him away. “They can adopt. Or!” She wiggled excitedly. “Sally Johnson’s sister Nancy had that baby surrogate, remember? They could do that.” She tapped a finger on her chin. “I wonder how far out that lady is booked?”

“Mom!” Will squeezed her hand when she started. “We don’t need a surrogate. Dad.” He looked his father dead in the eye. “Don’t watch the documentaries for a while. Let yourself acclimate to the idea first. And both of you,” he sighed and stood. “I love you, but please don’t meddle. We still have a year of college and, _Jesus_ , I haven’t even told him how I feel yet. You’re getting a little ahead of yourselves. You’re gonna scare him off before I even have a chance to snag him for real.”

“Oh sweetheart,” Jen laughed up at him. “You’ve already snagged him.”

“Now I _really_ want to see these documentaries,” David said thoughtfully.

“Oh my _God,_ ” Will moaned, covering his face. “Why did I come here?”

“Because you love us. And him,” David shooed him away. “Which, son, I’m ashamed of you. Go tell your boy how you feel.” His voice followed Will from the room. “But remember! We’re two doors down!”

Will was rubbing the back of his neck when he appeared in the doorway. He stopped cold at the foot of the stairs, a sheepish, smiling Derek sitting at the bottom. “I love you,” he said with a scowl.

  “I love you back,” Derek answered, heart thudding in his chest. “A lot.” He reached out a hand and Will took it, pulling him to his feet. “A _lot,_ a lot.”

Will kissed him, tentative at first and then coaxing his mouth open and deepening the kiss until Derek’s toes curled against the polished wood floor. “I’d eat ramen twice a day for you,” Will murmured when they broke apart.

“And I’d rather have daisies,” Derek sighed, resting their foreheads together. “Roses are cliché and we could still eat.”

“Man after my own heart,” Will smiled, reaching down to grab his butt. “Let’s go back to my room and make a lot of noise. My dad really deserves it.”

Derek kissed him once, and started up the stairs two at a time, wings on his feet. “You’re on.”


End file.
